


Eleven Piece Jigsaw

by Omegarose



Series: My Heart is For Your Eyes 'Verse [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, I need validation, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Soulmate AU, he's usually really gay, john's a theater nerd and an artist, johns bi if you squint, please comment, this took me way longer than it should have, wow it's been a decade since ive uploaded
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 12:32:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18120797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omegarose/pseuds/Omegarose
Summary: In essence, a series of ficlets, that together show the place each person has in this group. They all begin and end at different points, but in the focusing on one character. It’s all chronological in order to be less confusing.





	Eleven Piece Jigsaw

John knew that Hercules Mulligan fit into his life the day that Herc waited in the rain for John to get out of class, offering up his jacket when John hesitated in the doorway.

 

“A sweet Southern peach like you’ll freeze to death, out in this Northern rain.” Hercules scoffed, voice warm and deep, when John half heartedly tried to deny the jacket. It made John think of what a cozy room with a warm fireplace might feel like--a snow storm just outside of those four walls, cocoa and still-warm cookies in hand. The butterflies in his stomach ((that only first appeared when he met his soulmates)) woke from their sleep and began to flutter about.

 

“It’s just a bit of rain…” John protested weakly. He prayed his face didn’t look as pink as it felt, because if it did Herc could tease him endlessly. The “sweet southern peach” nickname would never end.

 

((It wasn’t even that cold, even John knew that. It was, like, sixty-five degrees at the coldest, and the rain wasn’t that much colder than the air. It was only the end of September, after all.))

 

The look--a fond expression that made Herc’s eyes go as soft as melting chocolate and his mouth to turn ever so slightly into a smile--that Hercules aimed at him made his knees wobble.

 

“Sure thing,  _ acushla _ .” He was still holding out the jacket, and John couldn’t deny the garment when it was pressed into his hands.

 

It was fleece-lined canvas, and it was still warm. The scent was spicy and sweet, in a warm way--like cinnamon rolls. It was so oversized on John that his fingertips were barely visible, and the bottom of the jacket fell to mid-thigh. 

 

((There was a moment where he wondered if Alexander and he could  _ both _ squeeze into it. The mental image sent the butterflies in his stomach into his chest and the definitely-not-a-blush across his cheeks into definitely-a-blush, no matter how he denied it.))

 

“You wanna catch lunch? I heard they have pizza-grilled-cheese today.”

 

“That sounds  _ nasty _ .”

 

“Nasty?  _ Nasty? _ I swear to God, I will educate you on  _ good _ food!”

 

John laughed, continuing their good-natured bickering as they walked towards the food hall. 

 

Yes, Hercules fit right in.

 

**Translations:**

_ Acushla _ \- the Irish-Gaelic term for “sweetheart”, though it more literally translates as “pulse” or “vein”

* * *

 

John knew that Thomas Jefferson fit into his life the day that they found solidarity together.

 

It had all started with a phone-call. The call John had been waiting for with dread curling like some dark demon through his entire body, that sent him running to the hall to get some privacy because  _ please god don’t let them see me like this _ . Maybe he left their...soulmate web-thing ((as Alex had taken to calling it, and it wasn’t like it  _ didn’t _ make sense)) worrying, but it was better than them overhearing the conversation.

 

“I have to hear through a professor’s cousin that you registered for  _ those _ kinds of classes, I mean, honestly, I knew you were prone to screw ups but this is just unacceptable!” his father opened with, snarling with a type of rage that forced its way through teeth.

 

((John knew his art teacher had spoken to her cousin about him, after the cousin realized that he was coworkers with John’s father.))

 

“I’m still taking all those law classes. These are just some extracurriculars I thought were interesting and thought I could try out-”

 

“You better not let any of your real classes suffer because of this, John,” his father growled and John visibly winced. Not because of that tone of voice--oh no, he was used to it, especially directed at him--but because of the address. He had been called John. Not Jack, not John Henry Laurens. Just. John. It was impersonal, like just because he was out of the house now ((or more likely because of his choice of classes)) he was no longer a member of the family.

 

“I won’t, sir,” John said, fighting the burning in his eyes and the pressing lump in his throat. Why did he think anything could be different, just because he was away from South Carolina? He should have known his father would continue to find ways to fight with him.

 

((It had to be over the things he  _ enjoyed _ , didn’t it? Somehow he never found fault when John missed curfew by an hour, or hit that mailbox on the way home from school, or when he forgot to do the dishes like he was told to for the third time that week.))

 

There was a final  _ “humph” _ from the other end of the line before John was hung up on.

 

“You call your dad sir?” James asked.

 

John jumped, turning around to see James and Thomas exiting the library. He had told everyone at their table he was taking a call from his father, so he couldn’t gauge how much they’d overheard. He hoped it was only the last little bit. His father wasn’t as bad as he seemed, for the most part, but there were... _ things _ . 

 

“Uh, I guess?” he offered, awkwardly.

 

“All of them are weirdos,” Thomas told John, gesturing to James with a tilt of his head. John was pretty sure he meant it in an affectionate way, even though it didn’t come out or seem that way. He turned a bit to address James. “It’s a respect thing.”

 

James rolled his eyes ((possibly in a fond manner, though it was somewhat hard for John to read that in addition to James’ somewhat tired and stressed expression)) and hiked his messenger bag higher on his shoulder. “I’ll see you after class, Thomas.”

 

John and Thomas bid him off, then Thomas joined John near the window. There was a silence that was heavy in an uncomfortable way. 

 

((What did Thomas want? Why he was even there? John wasn’t  _ his _ soulmate. They only had Alex tying them together, really, and even though they had become acquainted enough in the past couple months they weren’t exactly  _ friends _ .))

 

“He asks a lot of you, your father?” Thomas said, startling John from his thoughts so violently he nearly jumped.

 

“I-uh, I guess, yeah. He does,” John admitted. His heart beat harder than it probably should be, drumming a bruise on the underside of his breast-bone. ((Why exactly was he so nervous? Thomas didn’t  _ know _ anything.))

 

“My family does, too. They’re always expecting me to exceed everyone’s expectations. My mother told me, once, that it was ‘cause they knew I had it in me. I guess I do, but, it’s….a lot. I get how it...it gets to you, sometimes, you know?”

 

John nodded, pulse still pounding, but apprehension of this conversation fading. It seemed less like a confrontation ((like when Martha Manning cornered him in her car while driving him home after a band concert, that one time)) and more like an exchanging of equals.

 

“My-well, if your family gives you any troubles,” Thomas said, suddenly awkward, as though he had almost said too much. “You can come and talk to me. I think I get it a bit more than anyone else here.”

 

Yes, Thomas fit right in.

* * *

 

John knew that Alexander Hamilton fit into his life the day he got him to actually listen.

 

They might have been roommates and soulmates ((first off what crazy angel/demon/deity--frick if John even knows anymore--arranged for  _ that _ to happen?)), which brought all sorts of awkwardness at times and a beautiful type of cooperation at others, but Alex never really  _ listened _ .

 

Sure, if John asked him to hand him something that was near him, or texted him to take out the trash that day because he’d forgotten he’d dumped a half-drank cartoon of milk in there and it was going to  _ reek _ by the time their classes were done, or if he reminded him to not to leave his dirty clothes thrown all around the floor Alexander would.

 

But...he didn’t listen when it mattered.

 

Like, when John noticed that the bags under his eyes were getting horror-movie-level intense. John asked how much Alex had been sleeping, and Alex had evaded the question. John tried for probably a week to get him to sleep more often, or at least take a nap when he was clearly nodding off while working on something that wasn’t even due for another three weeks, but Alex hadn’t. If anything, he got worse in some weird form of spite. 

 

Or, when in October, John figured out that the only meals Alex had been eating was when one of his soulmates dragged him along ((maybe once a day, two tops)), and John had ((reasonably)) freaked out. Alex just stopped answering as truthfully when John demanded to know when he the last time he had eaten was. John was pretty sure it was more of a forgetful thing rather than an eating-disorder type thing, but it still worried the  _ fricking crap _ out of him.

 

But one day...Alexander actually listened when John asked him to do one of the things he usually wouldn’t. 

 

Alexander was sick. Fever, headache, John-was-pretty-sure-he-threw-up-last-night sick. In the middle of the night, John hadn’t been concerned enough to actually rouse himself from his bed after he blearily looked up to see that Alex was alright. That morning Alex just groaned when John asked him if he was okay.

 

John set him up with a bowl ((rather than an old ice-cream bucket he used when he was a kid, because that was all they had in the room)), a few bottles of water/gatorade, a sleeve of ritz crackers ((not as good as saltines, but hey, he was doing his best here)), and told him to call him if he needed anything. Alex lifted his hand and dropped it to the bed, which John took as an exhausted version of waving him out of the room.

 

That afternoon, when he got back to his dorm after being out and about the entire day ((nearly forgetting about his sick soulmate, other than to mention it to the others he saw, but really how bad could it be?)), Alex seemed worse. Bad enough John figured that he really should go to the free clinic on-campus.

 

He expected it to be another fight. It was...but it wasn’t just  _ another _ fight. There was something different this time.

 

“Alex, I think you should go to the clinic. They’ll give you something for the fever, maybe even something to flush the illness completely out of your system.”

 

“Nuh,” Alex groaned. “Too cold.”

 

“What?”

 

‘Too cold outside to go outside.  _ Brr _ . Like Aaron.  _ Brr _ .”

 

((Oh boy.))

 

“Okay, yeah, it’s been decided. You’re going.”

 

“Don’ wanna-”

 

“You’re going,” John insisted, perhaps a bit harshly. He had a right to be, though! Alexander barely took care of himself as it was, and certainly not properly. Given that he was sick enough to be edging on delirious, John felt it was his responsibility as soulmate/roommate to be the adult in this situation.

 

Alex let out an utterly pathetic whining noise and pulled a blanket over his head.

 

“Alexander Hamilton, get your butt out of bed this second! We are going to the doctor!”

 

John yanked at the blanket and easily tugged it off. Alex was putting up a surprisingly minimal fight. He almost acted like he was in shock from John’s sudden orders, letting John pull him up and out of bed, and help him bundle up in three sweaters and a jacket and a two-blanket cape. 

 

((He looked utterly adorable, with his red nose and bed-head, eyes squinting around and watering in the light. Maybe to most he would seem like a mess, but all bundled up in a little Alex-burrito? Precious.))

 

“C’mon,” John prompted as he pushed him towards the door.

 

“Yes, babe…” Alex mumbled, a bit like a reprimanded child. And good, finally John got Alex to listen-oh. Babe. 

 

((Alex hadn’t used cutesy nicknames, ever, not even with all the things that he was called. It was….nice. Nice to be called that.))

 

Yes, Alex fit right in.

* * *

 

John knew that Elizabeth Schuyler fit into his life the day she kissed his cheek.

 

It was an average day, and an average event, really. There weren’t emotional confessions, or unspoken truths, or rain crashing down from the heavens and chasing the two of them into a secluded archway. That day Laf, Eliza, James, and John ate their lunch together, like they often did.

 

Eliza ((in her red and green Christmas hat and reindeer sweater, even though it was the Monday after Thanksgiving)) had to leave to get a textbook from her dorm, so she was the first to get up.

 

“Goodbye, my sweet Eliza,” John sighed dramatically. Overacting was a fun way to mess around, and their little soulmate-web found it rightfully hilarious. “If I am unable to witness your beauty until the morrow, bid me adieu as though I will be leaving for war, for a night without you feels as thus!”

 

Eliza let out one of her peeling, light-filled laughs--the type that rose above the others and caused John’s character to slip from his face with one easy smile.

 

“I faint to think of a night spent alone! Goodbye, my love, I shall never halt my thoughts of our reunion!” She leaned in and kissed his cheek in a brush of soft lips and gentle fingers that pressed against his shoulders.

 

((Holy frick, a hetero side he never knew about just took over his body and he was honest-to-heck blushing.))

 

With a twirl of her hair and a twisting wave, Eliza disappeared around the corner in a fit of giggles.

 

Yes, Eliza fit right in.

* * *

 

John knew that Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, Marquis de Lafayette fit into his life the day he crashed in his dorm room.

 

Even though Laf’s room was  _ literally _ right next door.

 

It was sort of obvious that Laf had been drinking, when John opened the door to his uncharacteristically loud knocking sometime in the wee hours of the morning. He was hot-mess messy ((and  _ hot _ he was, fricking heck when would his boyfriends stop being so mind-numbingly gorgeous?)), with fly away curls in every which direction and clothes that were practically falling off him.

 

“What do you need, babe?”

 

“I need to stay with you,  _ mon trésor _ !” Laf enthusiastically cried, stumbling into the room and looped his arms around John’s neck. Laf was rather heavy, so the weight was enough to nearly send them both to the ground.

 

“Why don’t you go to your room?”

 

“I wanted to see you!” Laf declared, immediately losing all train of thought. “You’re hair is so soft, and pretty like that.” He pet his hand through John’s bed-head curls, pulling one spiral gently as if fascinated by its structure.

 

“Yes,” John continued--shockingly patient for being woken at 3AM and having his hair pet like he was a poodle. “But why don’t you go back to your room to sleep?”

 

“I did, but Hercules says  _ mon petit lion  _ sleeps! Poor  _ lion _ ! So tired! He needs rest!”

 

John tried to blink the fuzziness from his eyes, but it hung like a hazy cloud over his vision. He was tired, and it was the middle of the night. “Kay...you can take Alex’s bed, then.”

 

“ _ Merci, mon petit chou _ !”

 

Laf managed to gracefully fall onto Alexander’s bed ((how someone so drunk could make anything look graceful--much less  _ literally _ falling--John figured would always be one of the many mysteries of Lafayette)). 

 

“John!” Laf whined. He reached towards John as he was making an attempt to climb onto his top bunk, eyes squinting in the darkness. “It is so lonely down here! Do you not care for me being lonely? I cannot even see those cute freckles of yours!”

 

John flushed a colour he was sure was probably a brilliant shade of scarlet. 

 

“ _ S'il vous plaît, mon trésor _ ?”

 

He fought his blush ((hello butterflies that were back to flying about his stomach in huge swoops and tumbles)) fidgeting once, twice, with his sleeve. It wouldn’t hurt anything, really. All four of their quad of soulmates had fallen asleep cuddled with another so many times already…

 

Nestled in Alex’s tiny bed, head pillowed on Laf’s shoulder, curled on his side with Laf’s arm over his waist, he figured things were just as they should be.

 

Yes, Laf fit right in.

 

**Translations:**

_ mon trésor _ \- my treasure

_ mon petit lion _ \- my little lion

_ Merci, mon petit chou _ \- Thank you, my little sweet roll (it’s a French thing, idk if that’s the best translation but it’s what you’re getting)

_ S'il vous plaît _ \- Please

* * *

 

John knew that Aaron Burr fit into his life the day he made his hot chocolate exactly the way he liked it.

 

Aaron was  _ their _ barista. 

 

((Much more figuratively than literally, as he worked in some hide-away cafe named Beanie’s that was busy enough to be thriving, but just quiet enough for a group of eight-or-so to comfortably find space to sit and talk to the barista--who happened to be Aaron Burr, more often than not.))

 

Their little group of eight people, all tied to Alexander ((or in James’ case, someone who was tied to someone who was tied to Alexander)) had quickly grown into a functioning friend group that ate and studied and hung out together. For some reason, Aaron had begun to encroach on the soulmate-web from right near the start. 

 

Not in a bad way, of course. They would see him walking and Alex would call him over, or Angelica would invite him to join in on their not-picnic ((because ordering five pizzas and taking them outside to eat on a blanket doesn’t count as a picnic, according Thomas)), or he would somehow manage to get pulled into the dorm room that they were spilling out of in their attempt of a mario-kart party.

 

They started frequenting the cafe that he worked at, because he started becoming one of them, even if he wasn’t  _ one  _ of them. They joked and teased him when he wasn’t busy with a customer ((and sometimes when he was, but that’s just how Alex is)). 

 

John made a habit of stopping there before his early Thursday class ((he’s seriously considered asking Angelica to shoot him if he ever takes an early class again, but he’s pretty sure she actually would, so he’s refrained)).

 

Aaron was ready for him that freezing January morning.

 

“Hey, Aaron!” John called, shaking the snow out of his hair.

 

Without speaking, Aaron handed over a large coffee cup. John stared at it questioningly. Did he-

 

“Large, hot chai latte, two of the real sugar packets, dash of 2% milk, cinnamon, and three ice cubes,” Aaron rattled off, still holding out the cup.

 

“You remembered my order!” John exclaimed, brightening. A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling bloomed in his chest. It felt nice to be remembered, even if it was only a small, insignificant thing like his drink order. Especially by someone who didn’t have any real reason to remember, like John’s soulmate-group did.

 

“You come here every week at the same time and order the same exact thing, it wasn’t that hard,” Aaron said. Though his tone was bland, he had a softness to his voice that felt almost like it could be called fondness.

 

Yes, Aaron fit right in.

* * *

 

John knew that Angelica Schuyler fit into his life the day she taught him pottery.

 

It was funny, really. Angelica wasn’t an artist, in the slightest. She liked theater, and all sorts of music, and appreciated a good book, but she didn’t get  _ art _ . She appreciated the effort, and the passion, but John had never got the impression she really understood what the artists of their group said.

 

Of course she of all people had gotten stuck as the helper of Pottery 101. It was one of few “junior assistant” positions that she needed in order to be a TA at the start of first term next year, and the only one available she could fit into her schedule. 

 

((Gloriously, it just so happened to be John’s class, so he got to witness her failed attempts twice a week.))

 

The day John really enjoyed the most, though, was the day Ms. Bakerman had to leave to get her sick kid from school.

 

Angelica was left in the front of the room, keys to the classroom clenched in her hand, staring wide-eyed at the freshmen that waited for her next instruction. Several people ((all of which had realized that she was absolutely lost, not even two weeks into the semester)) laughed at her obvious distress. John included.

 

((It wasn’t like he was a  _ saint _ . Her situation was funny, and it was all in good fun.))

 

“John, you get up here and help, like a decent friend,” Angelica ordered ((John wasn’t about to tell her it came out more like pleading)).

 

He obliged ((and, yeah, from here this seemed pretty daunting, but he couldn’t bail on Angelica now)).

 

“Do you know how the fuck to explain this?” she whispered under all the laughing and quiet chatter, pointing at a complicated looking instruction diagram. Of course it was a clay-day that Ms. Bakerman had to leave.

 

“Uh...I think it’s a detailing type thing? So, you should pinch a thin piece and...go through it? Yeah, then add stuff in. I don’t know how you’d get it to stick, but it looks like it’s supposed to…”

 

Angelica clapped once--enough for people to sorta pay attention. “Great. John, repeat what you said and I’ll but put the diagram on the projector. Any questions...direct at each other.”

 

A girl ((John was pretty sure)) named Rynn raised her hand. “Will this be graded?”

 

“It better not be,” Angelica muttered. “For your sakes.”

 

John shook his head at Angelica--this poor, political science major so out of her element as she she was--and smiled.

 

Yes, Angelica fit right in.

* * *

 

John knew that James Madison fit into his life the day James stayed with John when he was sick.

 

It was common for everyone of all ages to get sick at the beginning of September. It was the start of the new school year, and the start of the cold season. It was when all the school-aged kids and university students were brought back together to introduce (and reintroduce) nasty little viruses to each other, and, in extension, their parents...who brought it to their workplaces. 

 

It wasn’t usual for John to get a stuffy nose for a few days before he’d be back to normal at the start of the school year. He didn’t think he’d ever had this bad of a cold in his life, though, at the start of his sophomore year.

 

To make matters worse, no one else in his immediate soulmate-web ((if that was even the name they finally stuck on)) was sick. Not even Alex with his decidedly not-great-for-New-England immune system.

 

“You’re serious?” John demanded through a scratchy throat, squinting at where his traitorous friends grouped in the hallway to try and focus through the dizziness.

 

“We were just asking-” Alex said.

 

“No I don’t want to frickin’ go to Beanie’s right now!” As if to accentuate his point he devolved into a coughing fit that burned his lungs and left him breathless. 

 

Looking back up at his soulmates he noticed how most of them seemed to be attempting to hide their amusement. He glared at Angelica as she openly laughed.

 

“What?” she asked. “I told Alex that you wouldn’t want to do anything and he didn’t believe me.”

 

“I-” Alexander tried to defend, but was silenced by Eliza’s Look ((short for the Mom Look, and Eliza had it down scarily good)).

 

“Just go already,” John whined.

 

One by one his ((kind of)) jerk friends departed with some well wish or sympathetic smile or half-wave. That was, until James. He was left standing in the doorway, awkwardly half hiding his body behind the wall.

 

John gave him a confused look, asking him what he wanted without words.

 

“I-” James began, rocking on his heel. 

 

Thomas backtracked to curiously watch the exchange. John had no doubt that everyone else was pausing in the hallway with equal wondering.

 

“Um, I mean…I’d stay here. With you. If you wanted me too. I mean, if you just want to sleep or whatever go ahead, but if you just want someone to hang out with after being cooped up in here all day I’d be willing-” James cut himself off, biting his lip and looking to the spot on the rug next to their trash can.

 

((John wondered why James was acting this way for approximately six seconds, before remembering last winter, when James had gotten a cold and had a small meltdown. John didn’t know much about, because Thomas, Angelica, and Eliza were handling it, but he did know that James had been  _ really _ sick a  _ lot _ when he was younger.))

 

“You can stay,” John croaked. “Just warning you, I’m just planning on playing Sims and listening to StarKid without earbuds.”

 

James huffed out a laugh. “You do you, I’ll just sit on Alex’s bed and enjoy your company.”

 

So, John played Sims, James scrolled through Tumblr read aloud anything funny he found, and they listened to The Trail to Oregon soundtrack. 

 

It was simple and calm, and kind of perfect.

 

Yes, James fit right in.

* * *

 

John knew that Theodosia Bartow fit into his life the day that he met her.

 

Eliza had already spoken of her ((how she always seemed to know and befriend everyone that John seemed to come across was still a mystery to him)), and Aaron simply gushed ((watching the usually reserved man acting so besotted was both funny and cute)), but John hadn’t actually met her.

 

He didn’t know what he was expecting, exactly. He knew she was married, and that she liked sprinkles in her coffee, and that she managed the little bookstore next to Beanie’s for the old man that owned it. He knew she loved Shakespeare and would argue about poetry and went hiking on the weekends. He probably knew more about her family and friends than he should, considering they had never spoken. He just...didn’t know what he would be walking into when Aaron asked him if he’d like to grab lunch with Eliza, Theodosia and him.

 

John, though he’d seen Theodosia’s Instagram, wasn’t ready for her bright yellow, floor length sundress. Her puff of curls were held back from her face by a neon blue scarf and her big pink-and-cork bracelet was an offsetting pop of color on her dark skin.

 

“Hi, I’m Theodosia Bartow. You must be John.”

 

Her smile was brilliant ((like a fresh breath of air)).

 

She stuck her hand out for him to shake. Her hand was small and warm, her grip both gentle and firm. There was strength there, too. ((Strength Eliza had, hidden beneath layers of softness; strength Angelica had, shining through in her determination.))

 

“Yeah, that’d be me. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

Eliza looked pleased that they seemed to be off to the right foot. She greeted Theodosia, exchanging pleasantries. 

 

Aaron hadn’t even looked to John, yet. Instead he was staring at Theodosia. 

 

His expression was completely open ((for once)) and it was easy as reading to distinguish the emotions that were displayed there. He was enthralled with Theodosia, absolutely captivated by her. He hung on every word she said like they were the words of God. There was longing there, too. Like Aaron wished he could have Theodosia himself--no husbands, no obligations, no rules. And above all, there was love. Aaron Burr (( _ their _ barista,  _ their _ friend, part of  _ their _ soulmate-family)) was hopelessly in love.

 

Yes, Theodosia fit right in.

* * *

 

John knew that Maria Lewis fit into his life the day they had a sleepover on the Schuyler’s couch.

 

He had been the one to talk Maria down from her very first panic attack earlier that evening ((who knew Angelica and Eliza were the types to freeze up, and Peggy was the sister to  _ not _ freak out)). He’d been the one to instruct Peggy on the least-stressful way ((most likely and hopefully)) to get Maria cleaned up and changed into something comfier. He’d been the one to make the blanket fort/nest/mountain, and pick out the Pixar movies they could marathon.

 

Maria had looked so small and fragile curled up on her little corner of the couch. Her wet hair was tied up in a messy bun, many strands falling loose and plastering themselves to her neck. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her without her makeup, but suddenly her lack of a bright red lip made her look bare and vulnerable.

 

He let her be. In his experience, just knowing someone was there for you was better than them trying to force a sentimental moment.

 

((Eliza interrogated John about how he was able to so effectively deal with Maria’s panic attack--and why on Earth John hadn’t told the group of friends that he suffered from silent panic attacks almost biweekly--later, but in that moment he just shooed Eliza and her worrying away.))

 

They made it halfway through Monsters Inc. before Maria moved. She unfurled her legs, stretching them out towards John ((like she was trying to reach out)). By the time the movie was over, her feet were on his lap and she was laying on her side.

 

John rubbed little circles on her calf, soothing her into sleep throughout Toys Story.

 

((He wasn’t angry for her, no, anger didn’t solve anything. He just felt sad. She looked so peaceful asleep. Young and sweet and innocent. She deserved better than what she had been given.))

 

John laid down in the opposite direction of Maria, around the time that the grasshoppers showed up at the anthill, in Bugs Life. His legs tangled with hers and he pulled a massive, cloud-like comforter over the both of them.

 

Sometime during the night, he woke up to see Maria sitting up. She looked around, clearly at a loss for her bearings. It didn’t take too long for her to settle back down. There was a peace that filled the small space, a peace that John felt deep in his soul and he instinctively knew Maria had to feel too.

 

“Thanks,” Maria exhaled, quiet and soft.

 

John hummed back, “Any time.”

 

Yes, Maria fit right in.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank my beta reader for their endless support (even if they didn't read the last three but it's fine I reread them a whole three times). Um...I don't know I'm just really tired right now and again SORRY for not uploading this way sooner I procrastinated finishing the last three, because I had everyone else done in like three days a whole month and a half ago.


End file.
